


In For a Penny, In For a Pound(ing)

by canyoupleasejust



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Enemies to Lovers, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Hrrmgff Will Be Our Always, M/M, Marriage of Convenience, Mutual Pining, Odo's Got Some Issues, Quark Is Emotionally Stupid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:01:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27299104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canyoupleasejust/pseuds/canyoupleasejust
Summary: In order to keep Brunt from collecting a debt (of flesh), Quark and Odo pretend to be married.
Relationships: Brunt/Quark (Star Trek), Kira Nerys/Odo, Odo/Quark (Star Trek)
Comments: 70
Kudos: 107





	1. A Disapproving Pancake of a Face

**Author's Note:**

  * For [angelxhunter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelxhunter/gifts).



> The title makes a promise I don't deliver on. At least, not in detail.

“You’re joking.” Quark’s tone was flat, but twitching fingers betrayed his nerves. 

Brunt, FCA, was watching him with every indication of pleasure. “I promise you, I’m quite serious.”

Quark dug deep for a grin, “This isn’t the schoolyard, Brunt. Aren’t we a bit old for these kinds of games? Now,” he poured them each a tall drink of Eelwasser, “tell me what you really want.” 

But Brunt hadn’t moved. Or looked away.

“I want what’s mine.” The ferengi’s beady little eyes traveled down Quark’s body, past the counter of the bar.

This time, Quark laughed. It was loud and raucous, though he didn’t know who he was performing for; the bar was empty and had been for hours. He’d only let Brunt, FCA, in after closing out of fear of what would happen if he sent him away. He wanted to keep Brunt as happy and bribed as possible, as suggested by Rule of Acquisition number 290:  _ an angry man is an enemy, and a satisfied man is an ally. _

But even Quark had limits.

“I don’t believe you,” he said finally, “and even if you  _ were _ serious, the Ferengi Commerce Association wouldn’t stand for it. Not between two adult males.”

Brunt set both hands flat on the bar and leaned in towards Quark, maintaining eye contact and an open mouthed grin. “Try me.” 

Quark swallowed.

He should have known better. He had no one to blame but himself — no one had forced him to make the deal that had led to this miserable affair. He’d thought it was a joke, that the terms of the agreement were a nostalgic nod to ferengi childhood, a symbolic little tip of the hat to the very nature of commerce. 

After all, who in their right mind would actually lay claim to another man’s body part? 

It was a petty, childish move, and it belonged on ferengi playgrounds where it originated. Quark distinctly remembered having to buy back Rom’s right hand from a school bully once; but never in a million years had he thought that he’d find himself in a similar situation. 

This wouldn’t have happened if Brunt hadn’t been trading under the false name of a shell company; but still, especially after the debacle with his desiccated remains, Quark should have known better. He really should have.

“I’m leaving in the morning,” Brunt’s voice was low and rumbled uncharacteristically. “And when I do, I’m taking that leg with me one way or another. Either you’re attached to it, or I take it… a la carte.” 

Quark was suddenly buzzing with nervous energy. He had to move, so he grabbed a cleaning rag and stepped out from behind the bar. There was some vague idea — or the pretext, rather — of wiping down a few tables, but all he did was wring the cloth and pace. “You won’t get away with this. I’ll take it all the way to the nagus!” 

Brunt had turned around to face him, leaning back against the bar with his usual salacious body language and watching Quark pace in increasingly small circles. 

“Oh yes.” Brunt said softly “And I’m sure he won’t think less of you for it.” He reached for the drink Quark had poured him and took a languid sip. “No one will.” 

Quark let out a high pitched little groan and managed to sit down at one of the tables before his knees gave out. He leaned his elbows on the table and clasped his head in his hands. 

“I’m ruined.” His voice was hollow.

Brunt laughed, and Quark couldn’t help thinking to himself that: at least, things couldn’t possibly get any worse—

And then the chair moved under him. 

Quark shot to his feet and stumbled backwards, watching as the limpid, liquid form of Odo stretched into the familiar constabulary shape. Complete with crossed arms and the slightest of smiles that indicated his belief that this time,  _ this _ time, he had Quark bang to rights.

“Hello, Quark.” 

“Ah.” Quark pressed his lips together and just nodded his head automatically. Oh yes, splendid, everything seemed to be coming up Quark today.

“Excuse me,” Brunt had straightened, and his voice no longer had a lewd gloat to it. If anything, his words sounded clipped and angry. “We are in the middle of a business transaction. A  _ private _ business transaction.”

Odo didn’t even turn to look at him; just maintained steady eye contact with Quark and did that little head bob which was his most obvious expression of smugness. “Mm  _ hm _ . I do believe this ‘private business transaction’ involves  _ humanoid trafficking _ . Which is… illegal.”

“What.” Quark was staring at Odo, his voice little more than a hiccup. But then he snapped out of it and cleared his throat. “What? No. No, constable, you’re sorely mistaken—”

“I own that leg! It’s bought and paid for.” Brunt snapped, pointing directly at Quark’s left knee. “He’s drowning in debt, the bar is failing, and ferengi law says that I now  _ own that leg _ to do with as I please.”

“Fortunately for Quark,” Odo finally looked over at Brunt, his eyes half-lidded and arms still folded, seemingly unphased by the outburst. “This station doesn’t operate under ferengi law.”

Brunt grinned, and Quark suppressed a shiver.

“This station might not operate under ferengi law,” Brunt enunciated carefully, “but this bar does. It’s a ferengi business.” He turned to Quark, innocently raising his brow ridge. “Isn’t it?”

Quark would have weighed his options... if he’d had any. So, this was what it had come to: either declare his bar a non-ferengi business or lose a leg. 

Neither of these scenarios was acceptable.

“This bar is, in point of fact, a certified ferengi business,” Quark said carefully, looking from Brunt to Odo, “but it has  _ always  _ adhered to local laws.”

Odo huffed, but kept his focus on Brunt. “Well. The local laws happen to prohibit the buying and selling of persons.”

Brunt narrowed his eyes. “That is not the same thing as the buying and selling of  _ legs _ .” 

He had fully stepped away from the bar and was squaring off against Odo to the best of his ability, despite being nearly a foot shorter than the head of station security.

“You know perfectly well that Quark won’t part with his leg.” Odo’s arms dropped to his sides, and Quark was amazed to see his fists clench. “This is just a thinly veiled attempt to purchase a humanoid-being. To  _ own another person _ .”

“Not another person,” Brunt hissed, “ _ Quark _ .” He’d thrown his shoulders back and his chin up, eyes glittering. “I will own this man if it’s the last thing I do.”

Odo blinked at him and his mouth dropped open. “You admit it.” He sounded as dumbfounded as Quark felt. “You actually  _ admit _ to something as heinous and unlawful as humanoid-trafficking.”

“Of course I admit it!” Brunt was yelling now, “I’m  _ proud _ of it! This will be the crowning achievement of my career!”

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” Odo matched Brunt’s volume. The tension between them was so thick it would have given Rom a run for his money.

“Gentlemen, gentlemen, don’t fight,” Quark laughed weakly, “there’s plenty of me to go around!” 

The other two slowly turned to look at Quark. Who fought the urge to curl into a ball. “Just kidding.”

Odo sighed and reached up to pinch the area where the bridge of his nose should have been. “Quark,” all the anger and passion that had been directed at Brunt a moment ago was gone. He just sounded tired now. “You’re going to need to claim Federation refugee status so that ferengi business law no longer applies to you.”

“I can’t do that,” Quark’s voice was soft, almost apologetic. For a moment, Odo looked up and they held each other’s gaze.

“Of course he can’t do that,” Brunt sputtered, “he knows I have him this time. I have you this time!” He rounded on Quark, eyes blazing, spittle flying. “No tricks or loopholes or—” he paused to catch his breath, panting, “or last minute schemes. You,” and here Brunt actually took a step towards him, so that Quark fought the urge to move backwards. “Are  _ mine _ .”

A small bubble of horrified silence coalesced around the three of them, hanging in the air like the peale of a bell or a cloud of steam.

“No.” 

Brunt and Quark both looked at Odo, who had spoken. Brunt took a deep breath, but Odo cut him off before he could speak. “That’s enough of this foolishness. Quark, tell him why you can’t go through with the deal.”

Quark felt his eyes widen and his mouth gently drop open, “why… I can’t…?”

“Yes,” Odo nodded at him almost imperceptibly, “because of what we discussed.”

“What… we…? Oh yes,” Quark nodded frantically, “what we discussed.” He had no idea what Odo meant.

Odo sighed theatrically and gestured towards Brunt, “the  _ property waiver _ , Quark.” 

“The—” 

And then he understood.

In roughly the same five eighths of a second, Quark was all but overwhelmed with three simultaneous feelings: first and foremost was a flash of awe and respect for Odo — Quark knew the constable made a habit of studying a variety of different legislative systems, but he’d had no idea Odo was so well versed in ferengi law. Second, was a flush of incredulity at what Odo was suggesting, at what he was offering.

Third was— 

_ Third _ was... 

Third didn’t matter. Quark shook himself and forced a grin — it wasn’t hard, he was a beetle wing’s breadth away from hysterical laughter, anyway. “Of course,” he threw caution to the winds, “ _ darling _ . I was just about to tell him about it.” He turned away from Odo’s narrowing eyes and tightening jaw, towards Brunt’s utterly stunned face. “Well, actually I was going to make it a surprise, but Odo’s never been able to keep a secret.” He gave the constable’s arm a fond and somewhat proprietary pat, and smiled at Brunt. “I do hope you’ll stay for the ceremony?”

Brunt’s mouth had fallen open, his eyes darting from Quark to Odo. “You’re  _ joking _ .”

“This is no joking matter.” Odo had clasped his hands behind his back and as he spoke he rocked upwards on the balls of his feet. “Quark is engaged to be married, and therefore can no longer own property.”

“That’s just for ferengi females!” 

“Ferengi  _ brides _ , actually.” Was that a little smile on Odo’s face? It was. Damn smug shape shifting fascist.

“This is…” Brunt was practically radiating waves of fury and desperation, “I don’t believe you.”

“Then Quark’s right, you  _ should _ stay for the ceremony.” Odo’s gravelly voice rose as he bobbed again, chin out. He seemed almost fidgety. Excited. “Probably best if you see it with your own eyes.”

Brunt appeared to be lost for words. All he could do was gape, the fight slowly but visibly leaving his body.

“Until then.” Quark said quickly, “it was so good of you to stop by. Don’t forget to bring a gift!” he gripped Brunt by the shoulders and drove him towards the door. 

At the last minute Brunt grabbed the doorframe and spun around, his face uncomfortably close. Quark flinched slightly at the wet warmth of the liquidator’s breath.

“This isn’t over.” Brunt spat, then stormed off along the dark and abandoned promenade of early morning.

Quark watched him go.

He felt strangely at peace, disassociated from his body, like he was watching himself from the corner of the room. Once Brunt had vanished into the shadows, Quark reached up to straighten his waistcoat, squaring his shoulders. 

“That was brilliant.” He said reluctantly. Then he grinned. “Some might even say it was  _ devious _ ,” Quark turned around, expecting to see the constable’s disapproving pancake of a face. “I’ve always said you’d make one hell of a crimin—”

But the bar was empty.

Or at least, it  _ looked _ empty. 

Quark pursed his lips, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. “I don’t know if you’re still here, Odo, but if you are, that was  _ low _ .” 

He waited for a response, and none came.

Quark looked around, his deep set eyes growing wide. “And if you’re not…  _ thank you. _ ”


	2. I’ll Think About It

“A tavnian wedding, really?” Quark sounded like his usual indignant self, but he hadn’t stopped pacing since he’d arrived at the security office. If he hadn’t been extremely aware of the reason for the ferengi’s agitation, Odo would have found Quark’s twitchiness highly suspicious and evidence that he was up to something.

“I didn’t realize you wanted a traditional bridal auction.” Odo muttered, watching Quark over his steepled fingers. 

“Of course I don’t!” Quark squeaked, “but aren’t there any changeling ceremonies?”

Odo sighed. “Quark,” he said slowly, “my people exist as a single, undifferentiated, telepathic mass. Do you  _ think  _ we have a ritual that binds individuals?”

Quark didn’t respond. He didn’t meet Odo’s eyes, either. “But why  _ tavnian _ ?” 

For a moment, Odo considered offering up some sort of plausible lie, but decided against it at the last minute. “Because I am intimately familiar with the ceremony.”

Quark paused in his pacing, “right. Because of that woman.”

“Lwaxana is my friend.” Odo let a note of danger enter his voice. 

Quark raised both his hands and tilted his head to the side — defensive body language. A little sarcastic, as well. “I remember her.” His brow rose, “I  _ liked _ her.”

Odo huffed to himself quietly.

Then he shoved a padd towards Quark, “we need to finalize the guestlist.”

Quark’s mannerisms changed abruptly. They went from defensive and mocking to awkward and almost… penitent. When he spoke, his voice was soft and tinged with disbelief.

“So we’re really going through with this.”

Odo looked away from the disturbingly vulnerable expression on Quark’s face. “Of course we are,” he growled, “I told you, I will not allow humanoid trafficking to take place on my station.”

Quark was watching him. Odo could feel his eyes on him like two increasingly warm points of light. Then he looked away.

“Right.” Quark picked up the padd and gave it a cursory glance, “this looks fine.” He seemed cold suddenly — all the telltale reactions of his body, which Odo used to read him like an open book, were muted and somehow distant.

“I’ve asked Captain Sisko if we might use one of the larger conference rooms—” Odo began, but Quark cut him off.

“We’re having it at the bar.” He set the padd down, and straightened, looking just past Odo’s head. Quark also appeared to be sucking in his cheeks and raising his chin — all indicators of defiance. Odo wasn’t going to win this one. 

Which didn’t mean he wouldn’t fight. “So you can gouge our guests with overpriced drinks and canapes? I don’t think so.”

The familiar tone of the exchange put them both at ease, and Quark was once again making eye contact. In fact, he set his hands on Odo’s desk and leaned forward, grinning. “Who else do you think is going to cater it?”

Odo leaned away from Quark, looking upwards. “I hear the klingon restaurant has a surprisingly affordable events package.”

Quark rolled his eyes and sat down on Odo’s desk, reclaiming the padd and already industriously punching numbers into it. “I figure between drinks, appetizers, and a couple post-ceremony dabo games, not to say the  _ gifts _ —”

“Quark,” Odo rumbled warningly, but Quark just kept going.

“You know, I never thought of marriage as a lucrative business move, but it makes sense! People get sentimental,  _ emotional _ , more likely to part with their latinum—”

“Quark,” Odo sat up, but Quark was already staring off into the middle distance with the misty-eyed look he got whenever he was thinking about profit.

“You know, if we make a holo-recording of the ceremony I bet we could sell them as momentos! And then I could charge a holosuite rental fee whenever anyone wants to relive the most magical evening—”

“Why,” Odo growled, “would  _ anyone _ want to relive our wedding?”

Quark looked hurt. 

Or at least, he looked like he was  _ pretending _ to be hurt. He made an indignant little sound and tossed the padd back onto Odo’s desk. “I’ll tell you why.” He swiveled to face the constable, one leg tucked under him, oversized ferengi head leaning so far into Odo’s space the changeling actually made his form just the slightest bit slimmer to compensate. 

“Because it’s going to be one  _ hell _ of a party.”

Then he hopped off Odo’s desk and swept out of the security office with all the drama Odo had come to expect of him.

As the doors hissed shut behind the retreating ferengi, Odo finally allowed his substance to return to its default volume.

He reached for the padd and spent some time grumbling at the plans Quark had outlined before tossing it away again in disgust. Though his brief marriage to Lwaxana had been mostly for appearances’ sake, it hadn’t exactly been a slapdash affair; however, it also hadn’t been the extravagant…  _ party  _ Quark had planned. 

This was to be expected, Odo supposed. After all, Quark was a flashy, tasteless hedonist who would take any opportunity to…

To  _ what _ ? 

Odo grabbed for another padd, one that featured the weekly report on criminal activities, and did his best to lose himself in work. 

It very nearly had the desired effect for very nearly an entire hour.

“Kira to Odo,”

He touched his combadge, “go ahead, Major.”

“I’m in ops,” there was a pause, then Kira asked, “I was wondering if you might explain what just showed up on my screen?”

“That depends,” Odo smiled to himself, “on what just showed up on your screen.”

“An invitation to your wedding.” Kira’s voice over the com was bright with incredulity. “Apparently, you’re marrying  _ Quark _ ? It’s being  _ advertised _ all over the station!”

Odo shut his eyes. Of  _ course _ the little ferengi would treat this like some sort of marketable event, and broadcast a station-wide invitation. Without consulting Odo. He shuddered to imagine the actual wording, let alone the design.

“It’s…” he tried to think of a way to say it, he really did. There wasn’t one. “Complicated.”

“Uh huh,” the Major sounded suspicious, “I’m sure it’s not too complicated to explain to me over lunch?”

Odo sighed, “I’ll see you at the replimat at 13:00, Major.”

“You bet you will.”

Several hours later, the Major was staring at him slack-jawed and open-mouthed over her untouched hasparat. “And I can’t tell  _ anybody _ ? You’re just going to pretend this is real? That you two…?”

Odo shook his head, hands clasping and unclasping on the table in front of him. “We can’t risk it getting back to Brunt.”

Some of the shock started to leave her face, replaced with equal amounts of amusement and disapproval. “Because?”

Odo considered how to proceed. He knew that while he found Quark obnoxious and infuriating, Major Kira found him existentially repulsive. There had been times when Kira waxed poetic about her hatred of Quark, and Odo had fought the urge to defend him. Actually  _ defend _ him.

“Then Quark would lose ownership of his body.” He said slowly.

She snorted, “it would serve him right if he did.”

Even now, Odo couldn’t help thinking that the Major wasn’t being genuine. She couldn’t possibly be as cold as she pretended to be, even where Quark was concerned. 

It was best to change the subject. “How’s Shakhar?”

“Too busy to talk to me.” The Major smiled. The soft little side-smile she reserved for talking about Shakhar, and Bareil before him. Odo still felt a pang of despair when he saw that smile, but it was getting better.

It really was.

“It’s a shame he won’t be able to make it to the wedding.” He said lightly, “a head of state would lend the proceedings a sense of... dignity.” Odo mirrored her smile, and tried not to notice the small burst of pleasure he felt when she laughed.

#

“I can barely move in this thing,” Quark grumbled, shuffling from foot to foot in the long, high-necked periwinkle robe. “And I look ridiculous.”

Odo bit back a frustrated sigh. “No more ridiculous than I do.”

“I don’t know,” Quark gave him an appraising look, “you’re kind of pulling it off.”

“They’re ready for you, brother!” Rom peeked around the edge of the doorframe into the backroom of the bar where Quark and Odo were preparing to meet their guests. 

Odo noted that the skin beneath Rom’s eyes was puffy, red, and once again newly wet; according to Quark, he hadn’t stopped crying since the day before, when Rom had helped him rig the invitations to broadcast station-wide. Odo would have suggested that Quark tell him the truth — that the wedding was just a sham — but he was actually quite relieved that Quark had decided to spare his brother the information. Rom wasn’t exactly known for his discretion. 

Then again, for all he knew, Quark  _ had _ explained the situation to Rom, who’d simply been unable — or unwilling — to retain it.

“We’re coming, we’re coming,” Quark grumpily picked up the glowing orb that he was meant to hold throughout the ceremony — though he’d vetoed the veil. “I can’t believe you talked me into a  _ tavnian _ wedding…”

“Would you have preferred a klingon ceremony?” Odo asked. Only a little smug.

Quark seemed to think about this for a moment, probably remembering his wedding to Grilka. 

“I see your point.”

“I think you look beautiful, brother.” Rom sniveled. “I just wish Moogie and the nagus were here, they’d be so proud!”

Quark bristled at that, his shoulders tightening. He glared up at Odo, “would you go out there already so we can get this over with?” 

“With pleasure,” Odo turned towards the door and followed Rom out of the backroom and into the main area of the bar. The tables had been cleared away, and the deis where the dabo tables usually stood was draped instead with garish ferengi colors and patterns. Quark had evidently not kept the tavnian monochrome scheme in mind while decorating. 

The guests — and there were many,  _ far _ too many — crowded around the deis. Quark would be pleased; nearly everyone had a drink in hand, and Odo saw Nog, splendid in his Starfleet dress uniform, guarding the heavily loaded gifts table.

At the front of the crowd, nursing a Saurian brandy, Captain Sisko looked dignified as ever. If somewhat nonplussed. Behind him stood the rest of the senior officers in their relative finery, and at the very back — Odo could see him skulking against the wall — stood Brunt.

They locked eyes, and Odo tried not to be disturbed by the fact that Brunt was smiling. He glared, and was at least gratified that Brunt was the first to look away.

Odo made his way to the deis, and then stood in front of it, waiting. More than one member of the senior staff were trying to catch his gaze, but Odo focused on the door through which Quark would enter. Wondering what type of nonsense would soon take place.

Sure enough, Quark stepped through, but rather than the stately walk towards the deis Lwaxana had performed, he tucked the glowing orb into the crook of his elbow and immediately started gladhanding his customers, that is, his guests.

“Thanks for coming, glad to see you’re having fun, try the veal!”

“Quark,” Odo warned.

“Right, sorry.” Quark started walking towards Odo again and tried to look solemn while the crowd gave a collective chuckle. When he reached the edge of the deis he hiked up his robe and ascended the step with what sounded like a facetious amount of difficulty. When he saw Odo’s glare, however, he widened his eyes and shrugged his shoulders, then demurely looked down at his orb.

Odo turned back towards the crowd and cleared his throat. He started off with the traditional tavnian declaration that another person, specifically the ferengi standing behind him, was about to become  _ his _ .

“I’ve known most of you for many years,” Odo continued once the ritual words were spoken, looking out over the sea of friends and acquaintances. “But however long we’ve known each other, I guarantee I’ve known Quark  _ longer _ .” He glanced over his shoulder at Quark, who was still attempting to appear innocent and well-behaved. “Or at least, it certainly feels that way.”

Quark snorted.

“The truth is,” Odo raised his voice slightly, projecting for Brunt in the back. “without each other, neither of us would be who we are today. For better or for worse, Quark and I have become constants in each other’s lives. In fact, his  _ greed  _ is practically the most reliable thing I can think of.”

“That’s sweet.”

Odo shushed him and turned back to the giggling crowd. “I have chosen to marry this man, to make him  _ mine _ , because  _ someone _ has to keep him in check. And also, because,” Odo had practiced the words, but there was no way to desensitize himself to the awkwardness of speaking them. “I care for him. There’s no one I feel…  _ closer _ … to.” He cleared his throat once more and steeled himself to turn around and face Quark. 

Who could not have looked more self-satisfied if he tried. 

Odo held his hand out to him and growled, “marry me, Quark.”

Quark stood up a little straighter and stared past Odo and over the heads of their guests. “I’ll think about it.” 

“ _ Quark _ ,” 

“Fine,” Quark grinned and took Odo’s hand, pulling him up onto the deis beside him. He leaned in, bowing his head but looking up at the constable with heavily hooded eyes. “I give myself to you, forever and always.”

He looked close to laughter, which despite everything made Odo feel like smiling, rather than killing him.

“I say for all to hear that this man is mine,” Odo turned away and sought Brunt where he stood in the shadows, looking decidedly unhappy. “If anyone challenges my claim to him, let them do so now.” 

The crowd cheered. Looking back at Quark, Odo found he’d closed his eyes and tilted his head up, lips puckered expectantly.

Odo knew for a fact that he didn’t feel things in his body the way humanoids did — he remembered what it was like to have practically no control over his physical reactions. Those experiences informed his current gratitude; he wasn’t overwhelmed with emotion, specifically, annoyance, and could force himself to stiffly lean forward and plant a brief peck on Quark’s smug face, rather than, for example, killing him.

Quark opened his eyes, and for a moment the surprise was there, the uncertainty — he looked almost lost, but then something caught his attention. He handed Odo his orb and all but leapt off the deis. 

Odo watched as Quark bustled towards Dr. Julian Bashir and Lt. Cmdr. Jadzia Dax, who both suddenly looked supremely guilty.

“What’s this?” Quark demanded, gesturing towards what appeared to be several strips of latinum being exchanged.

“Ah,” the doctor looked rueful. “I was just, well,”

“Paying up.” Jadzia said brightly, “Because he lost. He thought it would take longer for you two to come around.”

“I thought it’d be another year, at least.” Bashir admitted.

Odo saw the back of Quark’s lumpy head begin to shake back and forth. His shoulders slumped. “You ran a pool  _ without _ me?”

Odo groaned softly to himself and looked for Kira. She was standing behind the O’Briens, and when she caught his eye, raised her glass to him. She was smiling, but looked far from happy. Almost as unhappy as— 

“Three days.”

Odo turned around, and saw that Brunt had wormed his way through the crowd until he was close enough to hiss under his breath. “ _ Three days _ .” He repeated.

Odo groaned audibly this time, “what.”

“I looked it up, there’s still three days in which I can challenge this… this  _ union _ .” He spat the word. “And believe me, I’ll be watching you two  _ very _ closely.”

“I’m sure you will,” Odo allowed himself to smile. Quark was still arguing with Bashir and Jadzia over whether or not he was entitled to a share of the profits since the bet involved him, but there was a slight tilt to his head that told Odo he might be listening to his conversation with Brunt. 

Which was why his next words were said as much for Quark’s benefit as for the liquidator’s. 

“Hope you enjoy the show.”


	3. Sometimes When You Can’t Stand Tall You Crouch Short

The door to Quark’s quarters slid shut, and he leaned his head against it, hoping the cool metal would draw some of the heat from his face. He really shouldn’t have had that third (fifth?) Black Hole.

_ Eighth. _

“I don’t see why we couldn’t stay in my quarters,” Odo groused somewhere behind him. Quark didn’t need to turn around to know he had crossed his arms and was surveying the room with thinly veiled disgust. 

“Because you don’t have a bed, Odo.”

The constable huffed. “Well, it appears  _ you _ don’t have a bucket.”

Quark didn’t feel the need to dignify that with a response. He turned around and leaned back against the door, sighing, “I’ll find you a vase. Now,” he opened his eyes, and couldn’t help smiling at the fact that Odo had already “changed” back into his uniform. As if this were just the end of another normal day. “Turn around.”

The constable frowned suspiciously, “why?”

Quark fisted both hands in the fabric of his bridal robe and pulled it away from his body. “So I can get out of this thing!”

Odo’s face went slack and his eyes widened slightly. “Oh.”

Quark gestured at him, “well?  _ Turn around _ .”

Odo grumpily turned his back and addressed his next few remarks to the window. “I’ve never understood the preoccupation with modesty you solids seem to share.”

“Oh yeah?” Quark grunted, finally getting the robe’s tight neck over his lobes. “You’d prefer we all walk around naked all the time, like you?”

Odo’s shoulders tightened. “I am not naked.”

“Well, you’re certainly not wearing clothes.” Quark grinned, stepping into his nightwear and pulling it up to fasten at the shoulder. 

“Are you done?” Odo growled.

“You can turn around now, if that’s what you mean.” Quark smiled up at the changeling as Odo turned to face him again and grimaced in distaste. 

“Are you really just going to leave that there?” He motioned at the pile of robe Quark had left on the floor. 

Quark sighed, ignoring him. He stepped over the robe, drunkenly surveyed the apartment, then picked up the near-empty waste basket. He turned it upside down, and a few loose papers fell out. “This big enough?”

“For what?”

“For  _ you _ .”

He hadn’t thought Odo could look  _ more _ disgusted. Quark started to laugh, and it turned into a surprise belch. Quark shut his eyes and steadied himself against the wall. “Can I go to bed now? I don’t know about you, but I’ve had a long day. Pretty sure I got married.”

“Oh yes,” Odo hissed, “ _ please _ get plenty of rest. We wouldn’t want you to be groggy tomorrow and perform less than efficiently in your essential criminal duties.” 

“Couldn’t agree more,” Quark stumbled backwards onto the bed, bounced once, and then crawled under the blanket, curling onto his side. Relief spread through him as his body realized it was finally horizontal. 

“Lights.” 

The cabin went dark. 

Even though he kept his back to Odo, Quark just knew the constable was standing there in the dark, arms still crossed, eyes still narrowed.

He waited a few moments, listening for any kind of movement. When none came, he groaned. “Are you really just going to stand there all night?”

“At some point I will need to regenerate.” Odo conceded, his voice a low rumble. He may have sounded amused.

“But until then?”

“I’m sorry,” yes. That was definitely a suppressed laugh. “Does it  _ bother  _ you?”

Quark sucked on the insides of his cheeks and breathed heavily through his nose. “Nope.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.” He squeezed his eyes shut, and tried not to shiver at the idea of the motionless silhouette looming in the corner of the dark room. “Goodnight, Odo.”

All he got in response was another growly huff. 

#

When Quark woke up the next morning, even later than usual, Odo was gone. He checked the wastebasket to make sure.

“So  _ rude _ . We could’ve at least had breakfast together,” he grumbled to himself, conveniently forgetting for the moment that Odo didn’t eat.

Quark opened the bar; other than the hangover and the occasional congratulations offered by his customers (followed by disappointment when he didn’t offer a celebratory free drink), Quark’s day wasn’t particularly different. Sure, Morn was a little weepy and kept suggesting baby names, but other than that it may as well have been just another day on DS9.

Except for one thing.

One  _ person. _

One person whose gaze Quark could feel on him no matter where he was. Who seemed to be standing or sitting at the edge of every room Quark walked into, behind every column on the promenade, watching him silently and taking note of his every move.

Brunt, FCA, had been tailing him all morning. 

He sat at the back of the bar and ordered glass after glass of snail juice and bowl after bowl of tube grubs and  _ maintained eye contact _ in a truly disturbing way. Quark avoided him as best he could, trying to ignore the way Brunt occasionally allowed his eyes to wander down to Quark’s leg in an unspoken threat. 

Now, Quark was nothing if not a betting man, and much of his success in life had been achieved due to his ability to remain cool under pressure, but as the day progressed he could feel Brunt getting to him. Could practically hear the man’s nasally voice whispering somewhere behind him, just out of sight. See his glittery little eyes in every corner.

So when Quark ducked under the bar to grab an extra bottle of risian wine, he may have lingered a bit longer than necessary; closing his eyes for a moment and taking deep breaths through his nose. He wasn’t proud of it. He should have stood tall in his own place of business, but sometimes when you can’t stand tall you crouch short.

“Quark?”

Quark looked up, and nearly fell over.

Odo was leaning over the bar, craning his neck and frowning down at him. Quark stood up a little too quickly and they nearly bumped heads. 

“What are you doing here?” Quark’s voice broke — okay, so he was clearly a bit more frazzled than he’d been admitting to himself. Could he really be blamed? He was a bartender, not a… whatever it was you called it when you were pretending to be married to a cop to avoid being dismembered.

Odo leaned back and raised the area of his forehead where eyebrows should have been. “I  _ usually  _ stop by at this time. Every day.” His eyes narrowed as he watched Quark. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Quark raised his chin defensively, still watching Brunt past Odo’s shoulder. The liquidator raised his glass and took a pointed slurp.

Odo didn’t say anything, but followed Quark’s gaze. Brunt gave the constable a little wave. 

“Hm.” Odo grunted, “he’s really sticking to it, isn’t he?”

Quark looked up at him. “What do you mean?”

Odo leaned one elbow on the bar and turned slightly towards Brunt, actually smiling. “Brunt told me he’d be watching us for the next few days. He wants to make sure our marriage isn’t a scam. For  _ some  _ reason he thinks that’s the kind of thing you and I would be party to.” Odo raised his voice slightly, still watching Brunt. “As if we’d do something so extreme just to keep him from his  _ rightful _ property.”

Quark breathed in slowly, his shoulders expanding. “Why didn’t you  _ tell _ me that’s what he was doing?” he hissed.

Odo slowly turned his head to look at Quark, the smile he’d worn for Brunt still twisting his non-existent lips. “I just did.”

In quick succession, two things became very clear to Quark: 

First, was the extent to which he wanted to wipe that look off Odo’s face: he would do practically anything to achieve that goal. And second, Brunt wasn’t the only one watching them. Nearly every head in the bar had turned towards the alleged newlyweds.

Even quicker, Quark made a decision. 

He stood on his toes, fisted a hand in the front of Odo’s uniform — it didn’t feel like cloth,  _ don’t think about that _ — and yanked him down into a kiss.

Not the brief peck they’d shared on the bridal deis. 

The kind of kiss that made his lobes tingle with warmth. The kind of kiss that could knock even a shapeshifter off his feet. The kind of kiss that happened to other people.

And for a few seconds, they were other people. 

Then sound returned as if from a long way away, and Quark realized that the bar had erupted into cheers and whistles. They broke away and Odo gasped for breath — an interesting choice, since he didn’t breathe — and a few locks of “hair” had come loose from his usual shiny helmet.

Quark hadn’t seen Odo this disheveled since that one night, years ago. A night when sounds of destruction had driven Quark from his bed. When he’d found Odo overcome with grief, sprawled on the floor and all but losing his shape… but this time his eyes were different — he still looked lost, but there was something else, some sort of light, maybe even a happiness— 

“Quark,” Odo’s soft rasp returned Quark to the present. The present where he’d just kissed Odo.  _ Properly  _ kissed him. In front of people. In front of Brunt.

Quark grinned and used the hand that still gripped Odo’s front to gently tuck his “hair” behind his “ear”. 

Was that a shiver that ran through the constable? It felt like his entire being had  _ rippled _ .

Quark kept his hand against the side of Odo’s neck, but turned his attention back to Brunt and the rest of their audience. Quark pitched his voice to fill the room. “That’s right folks, Quark’s Bar and Grill and Holosuite Emporium presents to you: a marriage of convenience! Because those of you who’ve been paying attention over the last decade can attest to the total  _ lack _ of sexual tension between the constable and I.”

Nearly every one of the bar patrons laughed. Except for Brunt, who scowled, and Morn, who gave a loud sniffle.

Odo’s face had gone blank — which indicated to Quark that he was so taken aback he couldn’t even bother to manufacture a reaction. Though Quark felt pretty confident that if the man had  _ had _ any blood, his face would be full of it.

Quark had to use every ounce of his self discipline to keep from laughing. Or screaming. Or scream-laughing. “Isn’t that right, darling?” 

Odo straightened, discreetly shrugging off Quark’s hand. He looked out at the people surrounding them, and appeared at least a bit mollified when he saw the fury on Brunt’s face. “Yes,  _ dear _ .”

Quark was riding high on the ridiculousness of it all. He used one hand to vault himself onto the bar and wrapped an arm around the constable’s narrow shoulders, pulling him close. Strangely enough, the shapeshifter didn’t stiffen, or even grumble, and actually let Quark give him a good squeeze. 

“My husband may not be particularly  _ performative _ when it comes to affection,” Quark kept playing to the room, lowering his voice conspiratorially, “but I’ll have you know that when we’re alone, he can’t keep his  _ hands _ —”

“That’s quite enough, dear.” Odo fidgeted in his embrace while the crowd laughed. 

“True, you don’t always have hands.”

“ _ Quark _ ,”

“A toast!” Quark threw up the arm that wasn’t holding onto Odo. “A toast to your favorite bartender and the neighborhood watchdog. Next round’s on  _ you _ !”

In the celebratory shouting and alcohol purchasing that followed, Brunt stormed out of the bar, and Odo finally disengaged himself from Quark. He stood back, arms folded, watching as Quark bustled, filling orders and mixing drinks, kibbitzing with his customers and making sly innuendo after artful insinuation.

Quark was drawing it out, positive that Odo was waiting to berate him, but when he turned to accept his due — Odo’s undoubtedly prudish anger — the shapeshifter was gone. 

“So rude.” Quark muttered to himself, and to Morn, who blinked at him and hopefully proffered his glass. 

Quark filled it to the brim, “don’t you worry,” he looked off into the distance, smiling ruefully and shaking his head. “He’ll hear about it at home.”


	4. A Map of Behavior

“Odo?” Kira leaned forward across the desk. “Odo!”

Odo jumped slightly, somehow surprised to find himself in the security office. He was sitting stiff as a board, fingers steepled, jaw clenched. “Sorry, Major. I was… distracted.”

“I’ll say. You were lightyears away,” Kira laughed softly, setting down her padd. She watched Odo for a few moments and then cleared her throat, looking down at her hands. 

“So.”

“Hm?” Odo tried for the life of him to seem normal.

“I heard about what happened today.”

He fought the urge to close his eyes and waited for her to continue.

“At Quark’s.”

Odo reminded himself to breathe. To  _ pretend _ to breathe. “Yes.” He said noncommittally. He still couldn’t think about it without feeling... 

Without  _ feeling _ .

Specifically, feeling Quark’s mouth.

“It must have been horrible,” Kira scrunched up her already ridged bajoran nose, lip curling over a toothy smile. “Hilarious, but horrible.”

“Yes, hilarious.” Odo knit his fingers together and leaned forward slightly over them. He cleared his throat. “Shall we discuss the upcoming security preparations for the vedeks’ assem—?”

“What was it like?” Kira narrowed her dark eyes at him and gave an exaggerated shudder. “I mean, those  _ teeth _ .”

Odo worked his jaw, actively trying not to remember. 

Kira’s face smoothed out and her eyes widened as she sat back in her chair. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to talk about it.”

“No, no, it’s fine.” Odo tried to smile. “It served its purpose.”

They sat in silence for a few moments, Odo continuing to stare down at his hands, uncomfortably aware that he appeared unnaturally still. Kira picked up the padd again and bit both her lips. “Right. Security measures. For the vedek assembly visit. I’ve looked these over and I think—”

“It wasn’t horrible.” 

Kira blinked at him, her mouth snapping shut. 

Odo knew he looked solid, but he felt the substance of him trembling slightly. Quaking. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Kira, but he could hear her moving slightly in her chair. Trying to hide her disgust. Her disapproval.

Odo fought the urge to apologize. To make excuses. He dearly wished he hadn’t said anything. “Nevermind,” he sat up and forced a smile, “please, continue.”

Kira looked like she wanted to say something more, and not about security concerns. Thankfully, she flashed one of her sweet, bright, infinitely sad grins at him. “Right.” 

And then she mercifully went on about security checkpoints.

That night, as Odo left his office and headed to Quark’s quarters rather than his own, he was almost disappointed in himself that he had never, at any point during the day, forgotten that at the end of it he was meant to head to Quark’s quarters rather than his own. 

In fact, he’d found it somewhat difficult to think of anything else.

Except...Well, there were a few other things he was thinking about. But all of them involved Quark in one way or another. It was quite nearly as obnoxious as the ferengi himself.

He paused outside the door.

He was going to take his time and gather his wits. To try and shake off the strange, unfamiliar vertigo that had plagued his steps all day, but then a pair of Starfleet crewmembers rounded the corner. Odo couldn’t be seen to hesitate upon entering his own quarters, which were the same as Quark’s quarters now —  _ their _ quarters — so Odo pressed his hand to the pad, and the door opened to his touch.

“There you are!” 

Quark looked up — he’d already taken off his jacket and ascot, and was halfway through unbuttoning his phosphorescent vest. “I was starting to wonder if you’d even bother coming home.” 

Odo heard the door slide shut behind him, and after the briefest of moments he turned his back on Quark and faced the other end of the room. He took in the sprawling landscape of discarded clothing, empty glasses, and loose paperwork. Odo heard the rustle of cloth as more layers were removed and tossed onto the floor. 

There was a low snicker from Quark. “Not speaking to me? Are you really that mad about this afternoon?”

Odo wanted to respond. He wanted to tell Quark that he wasn’t mad… or at least, he didn’t  _ think _ he was mad, or at least  _ very  _ mad, but instead what he said was: “how can you live like this? Aren’t you worried that one day you’ll be swallowed by your own garbage?”

He heard Quark give a little huff. “I’m not  _ that _ messy. And cleaning is for females.”

“I thought you solids succumbed to  _ diseases  _ unless you maintained a somewhat hygienic environment.” Odo said dryly, and glanced behind him—

And stopped.

Quark had shrugged off his vest and his shirt, and stood with his back to Odo, stretching and working his shoulders.

Odo understood, intellectually, how solids built up their bodies through repetitive action — the same motion done over and over again would logically lead to a specific set of muscles that could then be read as evidence; as a map of behavior. It had never occurred to him that hours of carrying trays, unloading merchandise, and holding heavy bottles at arm’s length would lead to such a distinct, supple, well-defined... map. 

It made  _ sense _ , it really did. One of the very few things about Quark that made  _ any  _ sense. Odo had never understood why he always wore such very tight trousers, for example — oh, but look, he must walk  _ miles _ every day between tables, Odo could tell by the swell of—

Quark sighed, his shoulders — his wide, nicely rounded shoulders — slumping. “Can we just go to bed? It’s been a long day. Another one.” And then he started to turn around. 

Odo swiveled so fast he was sure his features had blurred. He did his best not to listen to the silky sounds of Quark changing into his pajamas. In fact, he spoke over it. 

“You didn’t  _ enjoy _ your first day as a married man?”

Quark laughed again, but Odo could hear the notes of exhaustion in his voice this time. “Having Brunt breathing down my neck all day wasn’t fun, no.”

Quark sounded tired and frightened, but also resigned. Which actually sparked a burst of concern in Odo’s mind; he couldn’t help thinking of how long Brunt’s vendetta against Quark had gone on. How extensive it had been and still was. But before he could think of how to respond, Quark’s hand on Odo’s arm yanked the constable around to face him.

“There  _ was _ one part of my day that stands out, however.” Quark was grinning, looking up at Odo with heavily lidded eyes, and acting remarkably self-congratulatory in his shimmering nightshirt. “I can’t honestly say I didn’t enjoy myself.” 

Odo felt there was something expected of him. Some burst of anger or indignation that Quark was waiting for, perhaps even  _ relying _ on. He had to fight the urge to supply it, to automatically hiss some disgusted, condescending remark, shrug off Quark’s hand, play the role provided; fit his shape into the space that had been left for him. 

Much like he had in the security office with Kira, he was sorely tempted to pretend that nothing had changed about Quark. 

About the way Odo  _ thought _ about Quark.

Instead he stood there, allowing the frenegi’s hand to continue resting on his arm, looking down into Quark’s smirking face. 

Which was slowly starting to lose its smirk. 

His eyes were widening, shoulders tensing up. Breath catching.

It was absolutely fascinating how their old dance fell apart the moment Odo missed one of the steps.

Odo couldn’t help it, that thought actually made him smile. “I noticed.” He rumbled, folding his arms behind his back.

Quark folded his arms as well, over his front, his body language turning defensive in a way that Odo couldn’t help but find particularly satisfying given the circumstances. “What?”

“That you enjoyed yourself,” Odo stepped around Quark and paced across the room, casually stepping over several of Quark’s colorful mounds of clothing. “I would have imagined that the threat of having your leg cut off would be more of a distraction.” He looked back at Quark over his shoulder. “I didn’t expect you to be able to throw yourself into a performance like that.”

“I’m complicated,” Quark said, his mouth tight and his arms still wrapped around himself. “Can I go to sleep now? I wasn’t kidding about being tired, I can barely feel my lobes.”

“Go ahead,” Odo took up the same rigid position he’d held the night before, his back to the window, facing Quark’s bed.

Quark looked like he was prepared to argue again, but instead he just made his way to the bed and climbed in between the covers. He turned onto his side, and Odo watched as Quark’s lumpy head pressed into the pillow with something less than relaxation.

After a few tense minutes, Quark grumbled. “If I wake up and you’re watching me…”

“You should know by now, Quark, I’m  _ always _ watching you.”

Odo expected another rejoinder. A joke, an insult, something. But instead, Quark just sighed again, his shoulders shuddering slightly under the covers, and the rest of him actually appeared to become less stiff. Relaxed. 

“Goodnight, Odo.”

Odo felt another moment of vertigo, a dip in reality, just like he had when Quark had grabbed him…  _ kissed _ him at the bar. Despite this, Odo felt himself loosening as well, his body almost an echo of the settling of Quark’s shoulders. The vulnerable curve of his skull.

“Lights.” Odo said softly.


	5. That Was Never Going to Happen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sorry.

Quark wasn’t surprised when, only a few minutes after opening, he looked up to see Brunt sitting at the corner table. 

Again. 

He wasn’t grinning today, but somehow that made him more frightening. He didn’t order anything, either; just sat there for the entire morning, scowling at Quark and visibly grinding his pointed teeth.

So when Odo stepped into the bar for his usual afternoon visit, Quark could barely contain his relief. It wasn’t that Quark was  _ scared _ of Brunt — well, no, he definitely  _ was _ scared of Brunt, but only in the way that a smart ferengi  _ should  _ be frightened of those who wish him harm — it was just that he felt better knowing Odo was there. 

Rigid, pedantic, misanthropic Odo, forever bent on ruining someone’s fun. 

For once, that someone wasn’t Quark. 

Still, it occurred to him that a casual observer who didn’t know the complexities of Quark’s internal life might misunderstand his behavior. For example, the sudden pleasure that filled his face, the speed at which he made a beeline for Odo, or the shrillness of his voice, might all be mistaken for — 

For something Quark didn’t have time to think about right now. So shut up about it. 

“Constable! I mean  _ darling _ ,” Quark hurried out from behind the bar and made his way over to Odo, wrapping both arms around the changeling’s slim waist and pressing his head against his chest. 

“Hrmgff.” That was Odo for ‘hello’. Also ‘how are you’ and ‘I’ve been thinking about you all day’.

“Brunt’s been here since I opened,” Quark hissed under his breath, “just…  _ glaring _ at me. Can’t you arrest him for… for loitering, or something?”

Odo had awkwardly rested his arms across Quark’s shoulders, and was now just as awkwardly running one hand up and down his back. Quark managed not to shiver, but only just. 

“If I arrest him for harassment he can claim that he’s investigating a false marriage,” Odo’s voice rumbled through his chest in a way that didn’t make sense to Quark — did he even  _ have _ a chest cavity? If not, how would one explain that resonance? It traveled through Quark’s lobes like an electric shock. “At this point any type of engagement with Brunt is an invitation for legal action. So long as we ignore him, all he can do is glare.” 

“Fine,” Quark pulled away and frowned up at Odo, “then kiss me. Let’s at least give him something to glare  _ at _ .”

Odo sputtered, but kept his arms around Quark’s shoulders. “Is this what married people do?” he demanded in an angry whisper, “they come to each other’s place of business and engage in- in- urgh,  _ public displays of affection _ ?”

“Yes!” Quark hissed back, “that’s exactly what they do!” 

Odo’s grip had — most likely unconsciously — tightened around Quark, and when he sighed heavily Quark could feel it in his hips for some reason. Weird.

Shut up.

“Alright then.” Odo groused.

But he didn’t move in. He just kept standing there, mouth downturned and head bowed.

Quark rolled his eyes, slid his hands from Odo’s waist up his sides and around his neck, and pulled him down for a kiss. 

It wasn’t as sudden or intense as the one yesterday, but Quark tried to make up for that by ensuring that it went on for longer.

It also ended less abruptly. Quark pulled away first, sinking back down onto his heels, and couldn’t help noticing that Odo’s eyes were closed. His mouth was still open. He still held his head forward in supplication.

Time went weird — Quark was suddenly completely unsure how much of it had gone by. Had he been standing here staring at Odo for the barest sliver of a second, or had it been a full minute? What was happening? Were people looking? They were looking. It had definitely been longer than it should have. But also, he was running out of time. He should be doing something right now. What should he be doing?

What should he  _ do _ ?

Odo’s eyes fluttered open, dark and almost liquid. Quark watched as, as if in slow motion, the rest of the shapeshifter’s face hardened around them. As he realized where he was. What he was doing.

And with whom.

“Hrrmgff.” Odo pulled away entirely, straightening his uniform and scowling furtively at the entranced bar patrons.

Quark smiled, “me too.” 

Odo’s eyes, no longer wide and dark but back to their cold blue, narrowed. Then he turned on his heel and without so much as a goodbye, marched himself back out onto his rounds. Hands clasped behind him, unfathomably long legs galumphing along the promenade. 

“See you at home!” Quark called after him, waving at the constable’s retreating and ever-expressive back. 

Quark turned his attention back to the lunch rush, preening and primping as more than one customer complimented him on the kiss, demanded details, or merely took the time to graphically speculate on his and Odo’s relationship. Quark had never realized how invested the more loyal of his clientele had become in his lovelife. He was touched. And flattered. And a little creeped out.

So it wasn’t until things died down a bit that he realized—

The corner table was empty.

Brunt was gone.

Quark was immediately nervous. The only thing worse than Brunt where he could see him was Brunt where he couldn’t.

Quark signalled to his head waiter that he was heading into the backroom for a while, and closed the door behind him. He had no idea how long it had been since Brunt had left, how long he had stuck around after the kiss. If he’d even stayed for the entirety of it, however long it had actually lasted. Quark couldn’t quite remember now, it was all getting blurry and a bit… vague. 

He fully intended to lean against a crate of yamok sauce and catch his proverbial breath, but then in the corner something—

Something  _ moved _ —

A dark figure stood up. It had been crouching in the shadowed corner behind the very same crate of yamok sauce.

“Brunt!” Quark squeaked, backing up against the door. He tried to look angry rather than scared, but it had already been a long day and it was barely the afternoon.

“Hello, Quark.” Brunt stepped into the blue electric light of the wall panels. His breath hung in the refrigerated air of the backroom. 

Quark gripped the edges of his waistcoat, trying to keep his voice and the rest of him steady. “You’re not allowed back here, this is private property.”

“Perhaps,” Brunt spoke softly, “But not yours. You can’t  _ own _ property, Quark. If you could, then you’d be able to settle your  _ debts _ .”

Quark exhaled through his nose and squared his shoulders. “If you have any business complaints, please take them up with my husband. The policeman.”

Brunt scoffed.“How like a  _ female _ .” He shook his head, sneering down at Quark from his single inch of height advantage. “I’ve always said you were no better than your mother. Cozying up to powerful men, letting them shield you from the consequences of your actions!”

A hot bubbling shame festered at the base of Quark’s spine, filling his stomach with the wriggling sensation that he’d swallowed a plateload of  _ gagh _ without chewing properly. “Is that right.” He stood his ground as Brunt stepped even closer, managing not to flinch at the liquidator’s breath this time.

“Yes,” Brunt hissed, “you know it, I know it. I’ve  _ always _ known it!”

Suddenly, the squirming mess in Quark’s guts stilled. Suddenly, everything around him became sharp, and there was a ringing in his ears like someone had flicked their finger against a maraji crystal. 

Suddenly, he knew. He’d  _ always _ known. 

In this millisecond of clarity, one thing became overwhelmingly apparent to Quark:

“You want it to be  _ you _ ,” he breathed.

“What?” Brunt snarled.

“The powerful man. The one I cozy up to.” Quark could hear the incredulous laughter in his own voice. He could barely believe what he was saying. “You want it to be you.”

There it was. 

In Brunt’s beady, glittery little eyes — fear. 

His mouth had fallen open, and Quark decided to take a spur of the moment chance.

He stepped forward, and sure enough — Brunt’s breath hitched and he stumbled back. The liquidator all but fell against the crate of yamok sauce. He’d never looked less dangerous.

“Oh, Brunt,” Quark sighed, shaking his head, “that was never going to happen. You can try to intimidate me, buy me, ruin me, humiliate me.” He chuckled, “you could become the grand nagus for all I care. But...  _ that _ ,” he leaned forward, and felt a thrill as Brunt gulped. “Was  _ never _ going to happen.”

Brunt whimpered and tried to scramble to his feet. He looked as if he was about to say something, but Quark didn’t wait.

He turned on his heel and left the cold, gloomy, shameful darkness of the backroom. 

Left Brunt sprawled across the crate of yamok sauce. 

Left him panting and defeated and completely, utterly harmless.

Quark stepped into the brightly lit, bustling bar, and felt almost lightheaded as he looked around. At his booming business. At his thriving community. At all his wonderful customers who were so invested in him and Odo. The obnoxious, nosy, lecherous busybodies, bent on celebrating him and his fake marriage—

Quark made eye contact with his head waiter and waved him over. 

“I’ll take over for a bit.” Quark took the order padd from him. “I’ve got a job for you in the backroom.” 

“Sure, boss, what kind of job?”

He let himself grin and settled back on his heels, once again looking out over his kingdom. 

“There’s some trash that needs taking out.”

#

“And you honestly believe that he’ll leave?” Odo had his arms folded over his chest as usual, and was scowling in a way that seemed completely inappropriate to Quark, given the good news. 

It was late at night, and Quark was filling Odo in on his encounter with Brunt, while preparing for bed. Odo, for his part, was doing his absolute best to ruin the high Quark had been riding since he’d managed to summarily dismiss the FCA liquidator that afternoon.

“I can’t imagine why he’d stay,” Quark had shrugged out of his jacket, unbuttoned his vest, and was starting on his cuffs. “I made my intentions quite clear.”

Odo huffed, his head bobbing. His eyes kept darting — possibly without his knowledge — to the discarded jacket on the floor. “What makes you think Brunt suddenly cares about your intentions?”

Quark let his arms drop to his sides and glared up at the constable, “you should know that  _ some _ people consider me pretty formidable.”

Odo just snorted again. “Do they.”

Quark worked his jaw and reached up to grip the lapels of his vest, leaning his shoulders back. “Yes, they do.”

“Well, Brunt is not  _ some _ people.” Odo folded his arms even tighter and rocked on the balls of his feet, “we shouldn’t let our guard down till we know he’s off the station.”

It was Quark’s turn for a derisive laugh, “as if you ever let your guard down.” He finished shouldering out of his vest and let it drop to the floor, ignoring Odo’s wince of displeasure. “If it were up to  _ you  _ we’d spend the rest of our lives sleeping with one eye open. Oh, excuse me,  _ regenerating _ with… how is it you see again?”

Odo unfolded his arms and narrowed his eyes at Quark, non-lip curling. “I’ve never had a problem seeing through you, Quark.” 

Quark rolled his eyes and started unbuttoning his shirt, “please,” he muttered, “regale me with your in-depth appraisal of my criminal character. This part never gets old.”

Odo all but growled. His eyes seemed to be following Quark’s fingers, his shoulders heaving very slightly in simulated breath. “You’re not usually so cavalier. You’re particularly pleased with yourself, aren’t you?” 

“And what if I am?” Quark raised his chin defiantly, letting his shirt hang open and setting his fists on his hips. “Why  _ shouldn’t _ I be?”

“Why do you always choose the  _ worst  _ times to be brave?!” Odo was shouting now, gesticulating wildly, “is it when you’re called upon to be a good and moral servant of the community?  _ No! _ Is it a pointless scheme with nothing to gain but profit? Or a measly point of pride?  _ Now _ he takes unnecessary risks!” Odo wasn’t even looking at Quark anymore. He appeared to be orating to the window. “ _ Now  _ is the time to be stalwart and daring and- and  _ thick headed _ !” 

Quark actively un-balled his fists and tried to speak in a calm, measured tone — mostly because he knew it would annoy Odo further. “A good businessman has to take risks, Odo, you know that.”

“You’re  _ not _ a good businessman, Quark!” 

Quark scowled, “hey.”

“If you  _ were  _ a good businessman,” Odo continued viciously, “you wouldn’t run a sad little bar on a forgotten station. You’d have a  _ franchise _ of bars. Or your own moon. Or at  _ least  _ you could afford to pay someone to pick up after you!” A sweep of the constable’s long arm took in the aftermath of a closet explosion that was their quarters. 

Quark opened his mouth to respond, but then he stopped. 

Instead of the devastatingly clever retort he was about to make, he sucked in his cheeks and held Odo’s gaze while slowly,  _ very _ slowly, peeling off his shirt. 

He held it at arm’s length.

And let it drop to the floor.

Odo’s sharp intake of breath was beautiful. His chest puffed out and his shoulders tensed — Quark really couldn’t help but admire how much effort the shapeshifter put into looking so thoroughly scandalized. Quark felt a grin pulling at the edges of his mouth, and was about to joke, quip, insult— 

When Odo’s hands shot up and gently but firmly fastened over Quark’s ears.

It was Quark’s turn to gasp as the sensitive cartilage of his lobes sent shocks of sensation through the rest of him, as Odo yanked him forward and kissed him and kissed and kissed him and— 

Kissed him with  _ intention _ . 

Odo’s hands dropped from Quark’s lobes — which were still ringing with the forceful touch — and instead slid up his back, cupping the curve of Quark’s dorsal muscles and pulling him close. Quark’s bare chest came up against the not-cloth of Odo’s uniform, and his arms circled his neck and—

As if he hadn’t thought of doing this a million times, imagined what it would feel like and what it might mean, Quark stood on his tiptoes and hopped up — wrapping a pair of strong legs around Odo’s waist and rocking with the movement as their combined weight shifted.

Odo laughed his grumbly laugh into the kiss and Quark died.

It didn’t help that Odo had broken away from the kiss and turned his mouth to Quark’s ear. 

The man had absolutely no Oo-Mox technique, but he certainly made up for it with an enterprising spirit and a can-do attitude. 

The effectiveness of which was quickly becoming evident from Quark’s only  _ somewhat  _ voluntary voicings; which seemed to amuse Odo and drew forth that low rumble of mirth that vibrated along Quark’s lobes — which just set the whole thing off again. 

They were stumbling around — making their way towards the bed, Quark was pretty sure — and then his back hit the mattress, driving out what little breath he had left. He opened his eyes to see Odo hanging above him, silver strands glinting before his dark eyes, and his mouth curving into a smile that made Quark want to kick him.

“Quark,” Odo’s voice was evocative at the best of times, but currently it was doing things to Quark that were best not made explicit. 

“What is it?” he gasped.

“I want you to know,” the constable looked uncertain for a moment, and a spike of dread shot through the haze in Quark’s mind. 

He liked it when Odo talked — but not if he was going to talk about  _ this. _

He knew deep down that the moment Odo had a minute to start moralizing and doubting himself— 

Quark had one shot and he was going to take it. 

He still had his legs in a vice-like grip around Odo’s waist and he used them, flexing his thighs and rolling his back so they flipped — with Odo now looking up at Quark in (literally) breathless anticipation.

“I know.” Quark said. 

He pressed his hands down onto Odo’s chest, blue nails glinting in the folds of brown and beige. Odo’s form shifted and rippled under him in ways that seemed to Quark about as intentional as his own voicings.

Despite that, Odo still looked like he might be determined to keep talking — and Quark distantly considered preparing himself for heartbreak — but then the constable just smiled to himself and rested his long, tapered hands on Quark’s. Odo slowly ran his palms up the flushed skin of Quark’s arms, his shoulders, and up to his ears—

No, Odo had definitely never even  _ glanced _ at an Oo-Mox manual. 

But then again, it had always been more of an art than a science. Like poetry, or music. And both of them knew how to improvise. 

Even if Odo was mostly playing by ear.


	6. A Mutually Satisfactory Transaction

Odo lay sprawled across Quark’s bed, staring up at the ceiling and enjoying the rhythmic nature of Quark’s breath. The little ferengi was curled up against him, radiating heat and making warm little sounds as he slept, arms tucked in under his chin and against Odo’s side.

Odo had shifted his arms into a blanket and wrapped them across Quark’s shoulders, adjusting the thickness and material according to his body temperature. 

He’d been lying here for hours, pretending he was trapped under Quark, that he was staying still to avoid waking him. The truth was, of course, that Odo could have shifted out from under him at any point; but he liked the proximity. Eventually he’d have to regenerate, but right now there was time. 

Time for this.

Odo shut his eyes and pretended to take a deep breath. Pretended to let it out again slowly. 

There had always been a certain amount of pretending that was necessary, especially when it came to these types of relationships with solids. The few that he’d had. 

But pretending wasn’t always a bad thing. There was something to be said for simulacra. For illusion and simulation and affect. They maintained Odo’s place on the station, among the solids; kept him palatable.

Odo felt some kind of sensation spread through him — if he’d been a solid he might have thought of it as warmth — when he considered the fact that Quark was one of the people with whom he did the least amount of pretending. When he tried… Odo couldn’t help smiling to himself as he thought of all the instances in which Quark had accused him of being bitter and misanthropic and  _ petty _ . Quark never seemed to have any illusions about him. To be fooled by any kind of facade he’d tried to put up.

For the longest time, that hadn’t felt like a  _ good _ thing.

But now…

They had been pretending together for almost three days. And no, it hadn’t all been good, but Odo couldn’t remember a time he’d felt more…

A time he’d  _ felt _ more. 

That was the thing about Quark — it was impossible to remain apathetic to him. He got under your skin, got a rise out of you one way or another. So animated and colorful and  _ loud _ —

It took Odo a moment to realize that now, _even_ _now_ , Quark was making noise. No, not just noise. 

He was  _ muttering _ .

“Great job. Yup. Stellar choices. We make good decisions, don’t we? Wake up trapped in the arms of a naked changeling...” 

Quark was awake and berating himself so quietly it was almost inaudible. Odo hadn’t even noticed a change in his breathing.

“I thought I was always naked.” Odo let a laugh rumble through him as Quark jumped. 

He raised himself on one elbow and gaped at Odo. “You’re awake?!”

“I don’t sleep.” Odo reminded him.

“Right,” Quark swallowed. Odo could see the tension in his shoulders, the rapid rise and fall of his chest, the color in his sunken cheeks, how wide and blue his eyes were. “I should go.”

Odo sat up, frowning. “Quark, you live here.”

“ _ Right _ .” Quark looked around the room, possibly surprised. Odo reached out and set a hand on his back, his frown deepening as muscles jumped in answer. Why was he acting like this?

Why was he  _ frightened _ ?

“Quark,” Odo pitched his voice low, “what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” that was practically a squeak. Quark had looked away from him, and appeared to be forcibly calming himself down. “Nothing.” He said again, his voice more level this time. “Last night was fun, huh?” his hands were fisting in the blanket that he seemed to have forgotten was actually Odo.

The hand that still rested against Quark’s back started moving up and down, and Odo smiled at the shiver that ran through the tense little bartender. He’d always enjoyed the reactions of Quark’s body, those twitches and tells that gave him away without his knowledge — initially because it helped him read into his alleged guilt — but there was a new element to this vulnerability that inspired something in Odo that he had to admit was… some kind of sentiment. 

Affection. Protectiveness. 

“It was more than fun.” Odo said softly. “I wanted to tell you last night.”

“You don’t need to say anything—”

“I want to,” Odo shook his head, “Everything I said at the ceremony… about you being the person I define myself in relation to,” he cleared his throat, “you should know that I meant it. All of it.” Odo laughed again and slid his hand up to gently cup the back of Quark’s head, feeling a murmur of triumph when Quark’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment. “This shouldn’t be hard to say,” Odo whispered, “we’ve already taken the plunge, so to speak—”

“And what a plunge!” Quark suddenly crowed. 

His eyes snapped open and he all but leapt out of the bed, away from Odo and out from under his hands. 

Once on his feet, Quark seemed to remember he wasn’t wearing anything and grabbed a conveniently placed pair of trousers, struggling into them at a speed that didn’t seem altogether safe. “That-! Yes, plunging certainly happened!” 

Odo stood up, materializing his uniform without even thinking about it. “Why are you acting like this? Did I do something wrong?” He could hear the defensiveness in his own voice.

“No,” Quark shook his head almost frantically. He was flushed and trembling, and without breaking eye contact with Odo — like the constable was some sort of predatory creature — he bent and grabbed at the nearest pile of clothing, clutching it to his chest. “Everything’s fine.  _ Great _ . I think that was a mutually satisfactory transaction, wouldn’t you say?”

Odo scowled and fought the urge to fold his arms over his chest, trying to keep his body language open. “No, that’s  _ not _ how I’d describe it.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Quark was sounding calmer, and he’d straightened up from his cringing hunch — though he still held the armful of clothing to his chest. “All the more reason for me to get the bar open! If there’s a chance I can satisfy at least  _ one _ customer today—”

“Quark,” Odo drew out his name in the familiar, menacing manner, but it felt different. Almost… put on. Odo was reaching for their old dance, their companionable, hostile rapport, but they were so completely out of step, so thrown off their rhythm— 

“Don’t worry about it,” Quark was backing towards the door — a moment ago he’d seemed like he was too frightened to break eye contact with Odo, but now he couldn’t even look at him. “I’ll see you later.” 

Then, still half-dressed and shaking like he was in the throes of a fever, Quark ducked out into the corridor, the door hissing shut behind him. 

He fled.

Odo fought the urge to chase.

All of his instincts were clamoring in discord. There was still a part of him that reacted favorably to seeing Quark off balance — it was what he had always been looking for as a law enforcer pressuring a known criminal, trying to keep him nervous and jumpy — but things had changed since last night. 

Hadn’t they? 

Odo went on his rounds. 

He couldn’t think of anything else to do. He’d always been a creature of habit, and there was something very comforting about going about his day as if nothing had changed. He looked over reports, put in a few work orders, debriefed his security teams, updated his logs, and roughly halfway through the day he headed for Quark’s—

And stopped.

Stopped just outside, standing on the promenade and looking through the wide window that revealed the area behind the bar. Odo could see that business was bustling as usual, but in the constant whir of movement and noise and color that filled the room — there was a single point of stillness.

Quark wasn’t moving. 

He was practically frozen, leaning on the bar, continuously pouring liquid into Morn’s glass. His shirt was only half-tucked, the buttons on his vest done up wrong, and it seemed he hadn’t even grabbed a jacket or waistcoat that morning. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up past the elbow — Quark, fashion icon that he considered himself to be, was actually tending bar in his shirtsleeves. 

More than that, he didn’t appear to be keeping track of how many drinks Morn was getting out of him. Odo had never seen him so static, so monotone. So muted.

Odo felt his features contract into a scowl and he held his arms behind his back. Ironically, even that slight movement was enough to capture Quark’s attention through the window.

His eyes, so quick and bright in the dark depths of his face, flitted over to Odo and widened — just as they had that morning — in alarm. He handed Morn the bottle (he was delighted), backed away from the bar and stopped to whisper something in the ear of his head waiter. Without a single look behind him, Quark disappeared into the backroom.

No doubt to cower behind a crate of yamok sauce, Odo snorted. 

Then he stopped and figuratively took a step back from himself, considering the ugliness of that thought. Its predatory nature.

Trying to ignore the prickling sensation that now suffused him — if he were a solid, he might have thought of it as  _ cold _ — Odo ponderously ambled down the promenade back to the security office. 

He sat down behind his desk and reached for one of the afternoon reports, skimming over the padd without taking in much of anything. It took a moment for a flashing message to catch his eye in the corner of the screen, and Odo looked up, realizing that the same alert was blazing across every surface in the office. An alert he’d set days ago for a certain person of interest, meant to flag their name on the roster of ships leaving the station.

It was official.

Brunt, FCA, had left DS9.

Odo set the padd down on his desk and steepled his fingers, resting his lipless mouth on them and shutting his eyes. This explained Quark’s actions, at least in part. He’d been right about Brunt.

The danger was past.

And there was no need to pretend anymore.


	7. A Coward’s Argument

“Quark, sit down.” Jadzia begged. 

She was watching him careen from one wall of her quarters to the other like the racquetball in one of Bashir and O’Brien’s matches. Dressed down as he was, he was missing the customary flap of coattails, but his arms were almost windmilling, working to make up for it. 

“I can’t,” Quark snapped at her over his shoulder. He couldn’t sit down because that would require him to stop pacing, and he couldn’t do that because, because, well, if he stopped moving there was a good chance he’d be entirely overwhelmed by panic. And this was no time to panic.

He couldn’t feel his legs.

Dax sighed, resting her chin on her fist and smiling at him. “Quark, if you don’t sit down you’re going to  _ fall _ down.” She was sitting up in bed, the blanket pooled around her legs and her dark hair spread luxuriously across her shoulders. Quark knew she’d been asleep before he arrived, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to feel bad for waking her up. How could  _ anybody _ sleep at a time like this?

He let out a yelp of frustration and whirled into a waiting chair, letting his arms flop over the sides and his legs splay out in front of him. His body was suddenly buzzing with exhaustion — which made sense, he hadn’t stopped moving in hours; he’d kept the bar open as late as he could, and he hadn’t exactly had much sleep the night before—

“Oh, Dax, what have I  _ done _ ?” Quark wailed, hunching forward and burying his face in his hands. 

Jadzia  _ tsk _ ed her tongue as he gently rocked back and forth. “It sounds like you did what you should have done  _ years _ ago.” She watched him for a few moments — he could see her blurry outline past his hands — then tilted her head slightly, her bottom lip tightening in sad affection. “Honestly, what’s the problem? I thought you’d both reached an understanding.”

Quark looked up at her and realized that while he’d explained what had happened the night before — what he’d done and what Odo had come so very close to declaring — he hadn’t actually told her the one bit of context that made everything so ridiculous. 

He hadn’t told her that the marriage was fake.

He hadn’t told  _ anyone _ .

Quark let out a shuddering sigh, and started at the beginning. “So I got wind of this deal, and I should have  _ known _ that it was too good to be true—”

He told her about Brunt’s duplicity, Odo’s solution, the domestic squabbles they’d found themselves in — how familiar it had all seemed. Finally, he caught her up to the scene that had taken place that morning, roughly four thousand years ago, when he’d fled his own quarters. 

He hadn’t been brave enough to go back yet, and it was nearly morning again. 

“And Brunt’s gone,” he swallowed, staring at the dresser across the room, atop which sat the tongo wheel he’d given Dax several years before. “I hacked into Odo’s security reports. He left this afternoon.” He found himself rocking again, and actively stopped. “I don’t know what to do.”

“You should go home.” Grumbled Worf.

Quark jumped — he’d completely forgotten the klingon was there. 

Worf was in bed beside Jadzia, but he had been leaning back in the shadows, with his arms crossed over his chest and his customary scowl on his face. 

Quark scowled right back at him. “Easy for you to say, you have no idea what it’s like being the  _ sane _ one in a relationship.”

“Now, now, boys,” Dax placated, looking between them, but Worf’s deep thundering voice easily droned her out in the small room. 

“When you were pursuing Grilka you had no trouble committing yourself to the chase.”

Quark felt his mouth drop open and his eyes widen. “That was  _ different _ ,” he squeaked. He looked to Jadzia, trying to ignore Worf. “ _ This _ is different. Odo was going to—” Quark spluttered, trying to figure out a way to say it that wasn’t… well, what it  _ was _ .

“Odo was going to declare his love for you.” Worf’s tone was clipped and his dark eyes flashed. “Again.”

“It didn’t count,” Quark could hear the defeat in his own voice, in how small and whiney it was, “it was fake, it didn’t count.”

Worf rolled his eyes and huffed, a few strands of long, wavy hair dancing over his massive shoulders in their soft pajama top. “That is a coward’s argument.”

“I think what Worf’s trying to say,” Dax started, her voice soft and cautious, “is that Odo being in love with you doesn’t  _ surprise  _ anyone.” She smiled sadly at him again. “Anyone but  _ you _ .” 

Quark shook his head again, lips pursed. A laugh burst out of him briefly, and it was just as pathetic and desperate as his whining. “That’s…” he covered his mouth, shifting in his chair and hunching in on himself even further. “That can’t be right.”

The world had turned cold and narrow and was slowly but surely falling away from him.

With another sound of disgust, Worf threw off the covers and stood up out of bed, taking several large steps towards Quark — who, for his part, cowered back into his chair.

“You are dishonoring Odo,” Worf’s voice was a furious, booming whisper, “he has been honest and upfront with you from the beginning. He has told you his feelings and you are calling him a liar.” 

“Worf’s right,” Jadzia sighed. “You have to take him at his word, Quark.”

Quark reached up and placed the palms of his hands on his forehead, fingers splayed across his skull, staring up at the klingon and the trill in wordless, abject horror.

“What matters now,” Dax raised her spectacular eyebrows at him. “Is how  _ you _ feel.”

Quark started slowly shaking his head again. “No. That can’t be what matters now.”

“It is.” Worf growled. “Perhaps you keep insisting Odo’s feelings are counterfeit because it is  _ you _ who—”

“Oh no,” Quark’s voice was weak and colorless but he easily spoke over the klingon. He was staring off into the distance again, overwhelmed by a full-body nausea. “That’s…” he swallowed again. “Unfortunately, that’s not the problem.” He met Jadzia’s eyes, and looked away.

“Isn’t it?” She wheedled.

Quark took a deep breath and ran his hands down his face before letting them fall into his lap. He’d never felt more tired in his life. He felt drunk, but not in a fun way. “It’s never been the problem.” 

“Perhaps you should return to your quarters,” Worf suggested, a very small hopeful note at the back of his words. “And tell Odo that you return his affections.”

“Maybe,” Quark nodded brokenly. He gripped the armrests of his chair, prepared to lever himself to his feet. “Maybe I  _ should  _ do that…” But when he tried to stand up the room dipped away from him and his knees buckled. He sat back down with a heavy groan. “After I rest. Just for a little bit. Oh  _ wow _ .” 

Worf looked from Dax to Quark, and his shoulders slumped in a sigh. “I will go make up the couch.”


	8. Yes, It May Have Been About Feelings

“He hasn’t come home yet.”

Major Kira’s eyes went wide and she looked down at her hands, folded on the table in front of her. 

She didn’t say anything.

The security office practically  _ rang _ with the extent to which she didn’t say anything. 

Odo squirmed. He knew he shouldn’t say anything more either, shouldn’t have said anything at all — but it was somehow more painful to keep quiet. He couldn’t help the despair that flooded him. The existential terror. She wasn’t  _ saying anything _ . Wouldn’t even look at him. 

He’d always respected Kira’s opinion; he valued her sense of justice, appreciated her drive. He truly cared what she thought of him.

He had also been in love with her for a very long time.

And while for years he’d indulged in fantasizing about their life together, imagining himself as one of the sad, rugged heroes of the bajoran romance novels he often read, imagining her as one of the willful, beautiful heroines, the truth of the matter was…

Kira, the Major, Nerys... was as much a romantic hero as he was. 

They were both complicated, flawed, practical idealists, whose capacity for self-indulgence was inherently limited. The fantasy of romance was an ill-fitting garment on them both, and a shallow, asinine reflection of their true connection.

Odo  _ loved  _ Kira Nerys. 

There was even a part of him that occasionally believed she loved him back. And when you loved someone, Odo had learned — not from the romance novels, but rather from his own experience — what you really wanted was for them to be happy.

Kira was happy with Shakhar. She had been for over a year. 

Odo had grown to accept that. Even take comfort in it. The thought that she was safe and well-treated and loved eased the dread he was sometimes overcome with. 

If there was one sensation Odo was overly familiar with, it was loneliness. The absence of connection. Of the Link. He imagined that what Kira and Shakhar had was similar, or as close as solids could come to the exquisite loss of self. 

He had always wanted that for her.

It had never occurred to him that she wouldn’t feel the same for him. That she’d ever even have the opportunity to feel the same for him.

Let alone that the opportunity would involve  _ Quark _ .

Kira Nerys was one of the most compassionate people Odo had ever known, but her revulsion for Quark, for ferengi in general, had always disturbed him. She’d long said she hated Quark for collaborating with the cardassians during the occupation, but it was common knowledge that he’d sold food to the bajorans at cost and helped maintain the black market that allowed the resistance to keep their foothold on the station. More than that, Odo was uncomfortably aware that as an agent of the cardassian government who had worked directly under Gul Dukat — been  _ assigned _ to his position by Dukat — he, Odo, was more of a cardassian collaborator than Quark, his brother, or his nephew ever had been.

Odo had always wondered how someone like Kira, whose identity — much like his — in some large part revolved around the idea of justice, could allow personal bigotry to cloud her judgement so completely?

But he understood it now.

Odo had made a study of humanoids. In some ways, he’d made a study of Kira Nerys. But now, after everything that had happened — and was still happening — with Quark, he finally understood this aspect of her hatred.

You couldn’t hate ferengi the same way you hated the cardassians. 

Cardassians made  _ sense _ — they were cruel and vicious and believed that they were superior to those they subjugated. Much like among humans, bajorans, klingons, romulans, and yes, even his own people, the so-called ‘founders’ — there was an inherent assumption of  _ value _ within cardassian culture. 

We were better than Them. Why? Because We were Us. 

The bajorans believed the same thing, but instead of  _ power _ as the measure of worth, they revered righteousness. 

Ferengi were the only culture Odo could think of in which value was externalized. Value  _ itself _ was the point. 

People didn’t  _ have _ value, they weren’t born with it. 

They  _ acquired _ it.

Odo remembered a story Captain Sisko had told him once, about a time when he and Quark had been forced to work together while trapped by the Dominion. The captain had described Quark’s outburst about humanity as a shock — but a welcome one. Sisko had appreciated the dose of perspective, as well as the irony of being chastised for a lack of empathy by a ferengi. He had told the story with a smile. With a glint in his eye. With an underlying tone of respect for the ornery little “businessman”.

But for Kira, for anyone who had found themselves flush against the apathy of the universe, who had had everything taken from them  _ but _ their ideology — the blatant, cheerful nihilism of the ferengi, of Quark, was indigestible. 

It shook the foundations of reality.

Odo had hoped that her love for him, their friendship, would overcome this primal nausea. That she’d be able to see past it and extend her support for his and Quark’s new discovery of each other…

But he also recognized her distaste. Had seen it in himself when he couldn’t help but enjoy Quark’s skittishness — there was something satisfying about watching him scramble, scurry, skitter like vermin, like prey— even in moments of intimacy.

The disgust he shared with Kira, those feelings of superiority, were the very thing being shaken now. 

He was betraying her, in a way.

“He hasn’t come home yet,” Odo repeated himself, feeling empty and deflated. “And I don’t know what to do.”

The Major bit her lip and looked up at him, dark eyes glittering. “Odo,” she sighed, “I don’t understand why you feel this way about him. How you  _ can _ feel this way about him.”

He smiled at her sadly. “I know.”

Her brows shot up in response to his smile, and her mouth dropped open, as if she were going to say something more — but then she shook her head and sighed. “But that doesn’t matter. Listen, maybe the fact that he ran is a  _ good _ thing—”

Odo turned away, but she kept going. 

“No, listen,” she said, “because the one thing we know about Quark,” she grinned, “is that he may be a coward, but he’ll do  _ anything  _ for profit. Right?” She laughed her tinkling laugh, and Odo fought the urge to smile. “I know you’re worried that he was just using you to protect himself from Brunt,” she gave him an imploring look, “but if he was trying to scam you, cheat you, trick you, whatever, he wouldn’t  _ run _ .” 

She was right.

“If he was up to something,” she continued, “if everything was going according to plan, he’d be  _ smooth _ . You’ve seen him under pressure. If he’s losing his composure, that means things are  _ out of his control _ .” 

Odo realized he was staring, and that Kira’s grin was getting wider. 

“There are worse things than keeping Quark on his back foot.” She shrugged. “For whatever reason.”

That was as close as she would come to giving her approval. He could tell it took effort.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

She bit her lip and shrugged again, and got to her feet. Odo stood as well, his hands hovering nervously at waist height. Kira reached out and grasped them.

“I’m your friend,” she said, “I just want you to be happy.”

Odo found himself nodding, and realized that once again, he’d forgotten to breathe — to pretend to breathe — in several minutes. He wanted to talk more about Quark, about how he felt, about how Quark might be feeling, but he knew that this was as much as Kira could offer him right now.

And it was more than he had expected.

Kira left the security office, and Odo sat back down at his desk, automatically reaching for a padd with the latest reports of criminal activity.

It felt good to know that one of his oldest friends supported him. But that didn’t change what had happened. Odo stared at the padd, unseeing. Kira’s support didn’t change what Quark had done. Didn’t change the fact that the first person Odo had allowed himself to be vulnerable with in this way had run out on him. That Quark had very clearly chosen to flee his own home rather than hear the words Odo was about to say. 

Odo set the padd down and slowly, deliberately rested his forehead in his hands.

He hadn’t come home yet.

Odo shut his eyes and cringed at the memory — at the panic in Quark’s eyes, at the alarm that had filled his face when he’d seen him at the bar later. It was Odo’s own fault, he wished there was someone he could talk to, but he shouldn’t have said anything to begin with, shouldn’t have assumed that Quark would feel the same way—

“Uh, Odo?”

Odo looked up to see Rom standing hunched in the doorway. His mouth was open and he was blinking rapidly, heavy brow-ridge raised. 

Odo immediately sat up and steepled his fingers. “Hello, Rom,” he smoothed his features and raised his chin, “what can I do for you?”

“The chief said you had a fried circuit?” Rom stepped gingerly into the security office, raising his toolbox in question.

Odo nodded. He’d completely forgotten that he’d logged a work order. “By the holding cell. One of the monitors isn’t working.

“Well, can’t have that.” Rom bustled in, his gait uneven but efficient. “I’ll have it fixed in no time!”

“Thank you,” Odo said evenly, and turned back to his reports, doing his very best to ignore the man who was, for all intents and purposes, his brother in law.

Rom knelt next to the holding cell entrance and began fastidiously laying out his tools. It wasn’t long before he was humming to himself and unscrewing a wall panel that Odo hadn’t even realized was there.

Odo frowned down at the padd he was holding and tried to concentrate on work again.

He’d nearly succeeded when Rom’s voice broke through, low and gentle, and suffused with sympathy. “Has he come home yet?”

Odo dropped the padd. 

Rom didn’t even look up, still squinting into the mess of wires revealed by the panel he’d removed. “I didn’t think so. Oh well.”

Odo considered the back of Rom’s head, completely at a loss for words, but then anger sparked him back into focus. “You were listening to my conversation with the major.” He accused, “you should know better than to drop eaves, Rom.”

Rom gave his customary shrug and shook his head, but didn’t even glance back at Odo over his shoulder. “Nope. I didn’t hear anything. Didn’t even know the major was here.”

Odo watched him work in silence for a little longer. “Then how did you know...?”

Rom sighed and adjusted the panel back onto the wall, turning towards Odo and beginning to reassemble his tool box. “Quark used to run away from home all the time when we were kids.” He smiled at Odo, “he’s, uh, lucky you’re patient.”

Odo had no idea how to respond to that. 

He blinked at Rom, and tried not to feel utterly ashamed of himself. “I may have said something that… frightened him.” He admitted after a while.

Rom nodded knowingly. “Was it about feelings? I bet it was about feelings.”

Odo didn’t exactly nod back, but rather indicated that yes, it may have been about feelings. 

“My brother’s a little slow. He can’t help it.” Rom finished packing up his tools and got to his feet in his usual bumbling manner. “But if you give him time, he’ll come around.” He reached back and gave the wall a good thump—

The monitor above the holding cell flickered to life.

“All fixed.” Rom beamed. 

“Thank you,” Odo swallowed. He knew he should say something else, something more, but all he wanted to do was ask for more reassurances.

Rom seemed to sense that and lowered his head slightly, giving Odo a sympathetic look. “I know he talks fast, and is a snappy dresser, but my brother’s kinda dumb.” Rom sighed, “he doesn’t always know what’s best for him. And even when he  _ does  _ know, he, uh, doesn’t always  _ do _ it.”

Odo looked down at his hands, clenching and unclenching on the desk. “I can see that you care about him a great deal.” He said carefully. It felt like an empty statement. His voice was clipped and dry. Some part of Odo knew that the lack of emotion he displayed was in itself revealing.

“He  _ always _ comes home.”

Odo looked up again, into a jagged-toothed, squinty-eyed, infinitely gentle smile. Rom continued softly, giving another little shrug. “And, uh,  _ you’re _ his home now.”

Odo groaned and shut his eyes. 

He couldn’t help it. He imagined for a moment how Quark would have reacted to hearing his brother say those words, and then nearly lost himself in a series of uncontrollable, husky giggles.

Rom blinked at him.

When Odo finally regained control of himself, he smiled at the little ferengi and clasped his hands together, leaning forward across his desk. “Thank you for that, Rom.”

Between Kira’s reminders that in Quark’s case, signs of panic were likely signs of sincerity, and Rom’s insistence that his brother was prone to flee at the slightest whisper of sentiment, Odo was feeling better. 

In fact, he was fully convinced now that while there may have been any number of reasons why Quark had run from him…

_ Apathy  _ wasn’t one of them. 

“I’m sure your brother would deny every word of what you just said,” Odo sighed, “which is why I think it’s probably true. I look forward to telling him about it,” he chuckled, “though I don't know when I’ll see him again,” he cleared his throat, cutting off that line of thought. “In any case, again, thank you.”

Rom beamed again. “You’re welcome.” He started out of the security office, then paused in the doorway, staring down the length of the promenade. “Uh, Odo?”

“Yes, Rom?”

“I think I know when you’re going to see my brother again.”

“Wh—”

“Heee’s coming this way!” Rom laughed a little with excitement, hugging his toolbox to his chest. “And, uh, I  _ know _ that look.”

Odo hadn’t even realized he’d stood up before he was skirting around Rom and rushing onto the promenade. He nearly knocked over a pair of nausicaans who gave him a dirty look, but it didn’t matter, because— 

There was Quark, bustling through the crowd, elbows pumping and jaw set. His eyes widened when he saw Odo and he stopped dead, nearly tripping over his own feet. 

For a moment it looked as if he might turn and run again, but then Odo saw Quark’s fists clench at his sides, his shoulders square and his chin rise. Quark sucked in his cheeks and started walking towards the security office as if he were about to file one of his many complaints.

Odo decided that this time, he’d meet him halfway.


	9. I Feel Like I Have An Obligation To Tell You

Quark’s pulse was hammering in his ears, and for some reason he couldn’t stop swallowing — why the hell had his mouth decided _this_ was the time to produce an exorbitant amount of moisture? He wished he’d had a chance to clean his teeth. Or take a sonic shower. Or even just pick out a complete ensemble.

After spending the night — or at least what was left of it — on Worf and Dax’s couch, Quark was thoroughly rumpled. He took a moment now, as Odo slowly ambled towards him, to finally tuck his shirt into his pants and button up his vest. He fiddled with his rolled up sleeves, but there was nothing to be done at this point; the fabric would be an unsightly mess of wrinkles if he unrolled them now.

Odo had stopped several meters away in the middle of the promenade, arms folded behind his back, watching Quark expectantly. He wasn’t smiling, but the smooth area of skin where his eyebrows should have been was raised in gentle mockery.

Heat flooded Quark’s face, and he groaned in frustration at his own stupidity. “Odo,” he barked, “I have something to say to you!” His fists balled at his sides again and his voice rang out. 

People turned to look; Garak and Bashir looked up from their breakfast table at the replimat. The chief and Major Kira paused on the upper level of the promenade to peer down at them. The crowd was now an audience.

Which seemed to give Odo pause, but he maintained a dignified stance. “Yes?”

“You’re a miserable piece of space flotsam,” Quark breathed. 

Odo frowned, and a few people around them chuckled, but Quark pressed on, “you think you’re so moral, so proper, so _principled_ ,” he shook his head, “you think you’ve cornered the market on decency. That you’ve got a monopoly on truth and goodness.” He took a deep breath, “well, I know better. I know _you_.”

Odo didn’t say anything, but his eyes darted nervously around the promenade. 

Quark settled back on his heels. “You’re no bastion.” He grinned, “you’re _bitter_ . A rancorous malcontent. A foul-spirited, curmudgeonly pedant who doesn’t belong _anywhere_ . Not even this derelict backwater, filled with the quadrant’s least wanted.” He knew he was ranting, but allowed himself a dramatic sweep of the arm, taking in their monochrome surroundings and the shabby, _eclectic_ rabble.

“Quark,” Odo began threateningly.

“And yet you _still_ get up out of your bucket every morning and try to make this station a better place.”

Odo blinked.

“Unfortunately,” Quark continued, “you seem to think that that includes harassing innocent small business owners like myself, but I’m hoping you eventually grow out of that.” He reached up and gripped the lapels of his beleaguered vest so tightly he heard the fabric stretch. He laughed helplessly. “Though I’m pretty sure you won’t.” 

“Quark,” Odo said again, softly this time, but Quark stood his ground.

“Oh no, you _got_ your stupid tavnian speech. It’s my turn.”

Odo closed his mouth and lowered his head slightly, watching Quark with a gleam in his eye.

Quark swallowed for what felt like the thousandth time, and tried to pretend he couldn’t feel himself trembling. “I wish to make an acquisition.”

Odo blinked at him again.

“It’s you. You’re the acquisition.” Quark added lamely.

Odo nodded, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Oh, I got that.” He rumbled, “for some reason I thought you’d be better at this.” 

“Shut up.” Quark took a deep breath. “I meant what I said before. I _know_ you. A-and you know me. Even if your opinion tends to be on the uncharitable side.” 

Odo opened his mouth again, possibly to argue, but Quark cut him off. “I don’t always like how you go about things, but I know you’re doing what you think is right. And that’s remarkable. You’re remarkable.”

Odo didn’t look defensive anymore. He didn’t look composed, either. His arms had fallen to his sides and his shoulders hunched slightly — he was watching Quark like he was an ion storm. Terrifying, but also… stunning.

“S-so, in closing, ” Quark dropped his hands from his lapels and instead held them up in the traditional ferengi gesture of supplication, wrists pressed together. “I wish to make an acquisition.”

Odo took a moment to process, then raised his chin, looking at Quark down his malformed nose. 

“Well.” He harrumphed. “As you _know_ , humanoid trafficking is illegal aboard this station.”

“Pfft, you’re not humanoid.” Quark rolled his eyes.

Odo glared. “Not the point.”

Quark glared right back. “At least we agree on something.”

Odo lost it. “Say what you mean!” He took several steps towards Quark, and the crowd murmured, laughing nervously or perhaps placing bets again. Odo looked bigger, and Quark was convinced he was puffing himself up like a cornered cardassian vole. “Say it!” He was shouting just like he had the night Brunt showed up to collect on his debt. “For once in your life stop being _artful_ and just speak! Plainly!”

Quark had had enough. He was done being intimidated and bullied. This was what you got for trying to be nice to people. He dropped his arms back to his side, marched up to Odo and pointed one blue-nailed finger directly at his face. “I shouldn’t have to! I thought you were supposed to be some kind of detective?”

“Oh, for god’s sake, just _tell_ him!” A loud Irish voice shouted down at them, and Quark looked up to see a ruddy-faced O’Brien practically leaning over the banister. 

“Yes, you coward, say it!” Dr. Bashir had stood up from the table he shared with Garak, looking fierce and tousled.

“You can do it, brother.” Rom was smiling at him from the step outside the security office. 

Quark let out a shuddering breath and closed his eyes. “I told you once that... you weren’t lovable.” 

“I remember vividly.” Odo growled.

“Well then,” Quark gave another feeble laugh, “I guess the joke’s on me.”

Odo rolled his eyes, and then something bounced off the back of Quark’s head.

“ _Ow!_ ” Quark reached up to cover the bump, and turned around to see Morn — standing at the entrance to the bar, ready to throw another plastic cocktail glass if called upon, and giving him a look that was worth a thousand words. Even from Morn.

“Fine!” Quark looked up into Odo’s waxy, melted globule of a face. “I love you.You arrogant prude.”

The constable’s form seemed to flicker, as if for a moment there he was too shocked to hold his shape. “Really.”

“Yes, really.” Quark snapped. “What do you want from me?”

“I want,” Odo looked lost for a moment, his eyes darting from side to side before meeting Quark’s and holding steady. A calm seemed to fall over him, and Odo’s long arms rose up to gently encircle Quark’s waist, pulling him close. 

“I want to kiss you.” Odo rasped.

“What?” Quark squeaked. “Here? Now? In front of all these people?” He would never admit it, would never have expected it, but he actually felt _shy_.

Somehow, Odo could tell. “I thought you _liked_ public displays of affection.”

“I—” 

Odo kissed him.

Softly. 

Not like he’d kissed him the night before. There was no force, no desperation. Nothing but tenderness and slow, gentle affection.

Once again, Quark died. The life left his body, and his soul ascended to the Divine Treasury, greeted by the Blessed Exchequer with open arms like an old friend returning home. Odo’s arms were wrapped around him tight, and Quark slid his hands up to fist in Odo’s uniform, rising onto his toes, the better to lean into the kiss.

The kind of kiss that happened to other people.

But they weren’t other people.

Odo broke away and bent his forehead against Quark’s, that low, rasping laugh emanating from deep in his chest and making Quark’s lobes tingle along with the rest of him. 

“I love you, too.” Odo rumbled, “you petty thief.”

They held each other. 

And once again, time went weird. 

Quark realized he didn’t know how long it had been, but that he had expected to hear cheering, or laughter, or lewd whistles; just like he had after the displays at the bar. But instead, a hush seemed to have fallen over the promenade. Quark kept his eyes closed, but he could hear the shuffle of feet surrounding, as if people were just moving on. Continuing to go about their day. 

The street theater was over, and they had no more interest in him and Odo. 

Sure enough, when Quark finally opened his eyes, the audience was once again a pedestrian crowd — moving around the entwined ferengi and changeling like a slow, ornery, dirty river, smelling of apathy and body odor.

Dr. Bashir had sat down again and was deep in conversation with the cardassian tailor, though he was still somewhat flushed and bright eyed. The chief appeared to have wandered off, as well. Even Morn was nowhere to be seen.

The only two people who still stood watching them were Rom and Kira. Rom was beaming and crying just like he had at the wedding, and Kira—

Kira was _smiling_ at Quark.

It wasn’t a friendly smile. But it didn’t send the usual shivers of dread through him, either. And not only because he was currently wrapped in Odo’s arms.

She inclined her head slowly, eyes glittering, mouth tight, before turning away and disappearing along the upper deck of the promenade. Quark was pretty sure he understood that smile.

It was a welcome.

And a warning.

“What are you looking at?”

Quark couldn’t help grinning to himself; Odo sounded annoyed.

“What? I just saw an andorian who’d make an _excellent_ dabo girl if I can convince her to lose a few layers—”

“Quark—”

“Why, were you saying something?” He leaned his head back, the better to smirk up at Odo. “Doing something I should be paying attention to?”

Odo narrowed his eyes, but Quark could see the smile he was trying to keep down, his head starting to shake slowly from side to side. “No, nothing at all. I was just under the impression that we were having a moment.”

“Well, _you_ were having a moment,” Quark’s smirk was stretching into a grin. “ _I_ was thinking about dabo girls.”

Odo sighed heavily, his arms still settled around Quark’s waist, and his shoulders relaxing under Quark’s small dark hands. “You can’t afford any more dabo girls. I thought the bar was drowning in debt.”

Quark gave him an indignant, disgusted look. “What a horrible rumor. That’s slander! You should arrest whoever said that about me.”

The constable gave his grim little huff of a laugh, “or maybe I should arrest you.”

“What for?”

“Obstructing traffic on the promenade.” Odo raised his chin. People were still grumpily stepping around them, but Odo didn’t seem any more inclined to move off the mainway than Quark.

“You can’t arrest me, I have to open the bar in a few hours.”

“This would be the _failing_ bar?”

“That isn’t funny, you know.” Quark moved his hands from Odo’s shoulders to knit his fingers behind Odo’s neck. “Now that we’re… whatever we are —”

“Married.”

“Sure. I feel like I have an obligation to tell you. You’re not funny.”

“Hrrmgff.” He could still see that smile, hidden under the layers of gruff sulk and eerily glossy skin.

Quark answered it with a smile of his own. Well, maybe it was more of a smirk. 

“Me too.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE END. Thank you, and goodnight.


End file.
